Secret Slash Stash
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: A collection of slashy oneshots written for the Secret Slash exchanges over at The Refuge!
1. Liquid Courage

This fic was written for Signpost during the 2005 Christmas Secret Slash Exchange

* * *

I've never tasted alcohol. 

You think I'm joking? No. I, Esteban Sanchez, am twenty years old and not once have I had an alcoholic beverage.

Wait, I think that's a lie. I have had the occasional sip of champagne at weddings and such. However, I can't name the different brands of rum, vodka, or bourbon. I'm not sure what kind of glass is best for serving Martinis. As for Manhattans, I always thought that was some place in New York.

So why was I standing in a Chicago apartment of someone I didn't know while countless others surrounding me proceeded to get plastered?

"Hey, Bumlets! Don't just stand there. Go talk to people! Have fun!"

That's right. My roommate, Jack Kelly. An all-around nice guy, Jack enjoyed the party scene more than I did. Having been stuck together at the Columbia College dorm, we socialized with one another, but did our own things: He'd go out on the weekends and I'd stay in and read. It was a nice set-up.

However, when he found out I would be back at the dorms during New Years, he took it upon himself to invite me to a party some friends of his were having. By "invite" I mean he dragged me out.

And thus I found myself in the aforementioned apartment surrounded by the aforementioned drunkards. Huzzah.

"Hey! Everyone shut the fuck up already!" someone cried from across the room. The music was turned down and a hush fell upon the crowd. The guy grinned. "That's better! Now we still have a couple of hours 'til midnight, but none of you will appreciate this by then cause you'll all be drunk!"

He turned his attention to a guy nearby who held drumsticks. With a nod, the guy with drumsticks began a drumroll on the table. The first guy began speaking. "May I first introduce the old year!"

The door where he was standing opened and out walked someone dressed in a bathrobe and made-up to look about one-hundred years older than I suspected he was. The crowd around me booed and hissed at him as he raised the cane he was holding.

"Ok, that's enough! Shut up! Now, I present to you, Baby New Year!"

The crowd cheered as the door reopened, this time revealing a fresh faced young man. Peeking out from under a top hat were strands of the lightest blonde hair I'd ever seen and his blue-green eyes were accentuated by glasses. I could tell just how pale his skin was because he was dressed only in a large diaper and a sash reading "Baby New Year 2006."

The people around me began pressing forward chanting "Dutchy! Dutchy! Dutchy!" Feeling claustrophobic, I tried to push to the back, but to no avail. The Baby New Year, or "Dutchy" as he was apparently called by friends, raised his hands in the air, quieting everyone. When there was total silence, he took a long pause, a grin spreading over his face.

"LET'S PARTY!"

That's all it took to get everyone in motion again. This time, I managed to push forward through the crowd. As I rammed through the final threshold, I found myself face to face with the Baby himself.

"You okay?" he asked, steadying me. "You're not already drunk, are you?"

"Who? Bumlets? He doesn't drink." I looked and saw Jack standing nearby. "Hey, Dutchy, love the ensemble."

Dutchy gave Jack a high-five. "Thanks. I do try my darndest." He turned his attention back to me. "Don't drink? Well we'll have to fix that. Do you not like the taste or is it a moral issue?"

I shrugged feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I just never tried it. I mean, I never really wanted to."

When I tell you his eyes widened to the size of golf balls, I kid you not. He shouted to someone behind me, "Hey, Brandon! We got an emergency over here! Fix something up quick!" Looking at me he added, "Not too strong, though. We got a lightweight over here."

"A what?" I asked.

"You probably won't take to alcohol very well at first, so we'll start you off slow."

"But, I really don't wan--" I was interrupted as a glass was shoved in my face. Inside, the liquid was fizzing slightly. "Uh...what is this?"

"Gin and tonic," replied someone who I assumed was Brandon.

"...What's in it?"

He looked at me as though it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard. It probably was. "Um...Gin and tonic water..."

"Trust me, you'll like it," Dutchy assured me. It is usually against my instinct to trust someone who wears a diaper, but his eyes were sparkling and his smile was so darn charming.

I reluctantly took the glass and raised it to my lips. With one more glance at Dutchy, who was still grinning, I lifted the glass back, letting the liquid slide into my mouth and down my throat. I felt a burning sensation in my throat and coughed. "What was that!?!" I sputtered. The sensation in my throat died, but an after taste was left in my mouth. It was quite good actually.

Dutchy's grin didn't falter. "Try it again."

I wanted to say "no," but again one look at his face made me obey him. This time I braced myself for the taste. To my surprise (and I suppose to my delight) I enjoyed it. The taste was a bit sour, but still nice. I slowly began lifting the glass, letting the liquid spill out faster and faster.

Dutchy reached for the now empty glass. "Whoa! Watch it! You want to pace yourself!"

I blushed, not wanting him to think I was becoming an alcoholic. "So..." I began as nonchalantly as possible, "What else have you got?"

An hour and a half later, I began to understand what Dutchy had meant about "pacing" myself. Perhaps I should tell you that in that time period I'd had another Gin and Tonic, a Sloe Gin Fizz, a Screwdriver or two (or...three?), and some shots of various alcohol. Drunkenness is a very strange feeling. I think the background music started getting much louder. The floors began moving slightly, making it harder to walk. Also, things got blurry.

"Are you drunk?" Dutchy's face floated into my vision. I didn't say a word. I simply fell against him. "Yeah," he muttered, wrapping his arm around me to get a better grasp, "you're drunk. Come on." He began pulling me toward what had been set up as a bar. "Hey, Shelly, do we have any coffee?"

"Sure. We have Irish coffee, Kahlua Coffee, Irish Amaretto Coffee..."

"Just regular coffee."

"Oh. I think we used it all up."

He sighed and bit his lip, obviously thinking. "Do we have any hot chocolate?"

We settled onto a vacant love seat, each with our own steaming mug of hot chocolate. "I'm sorry to take you away from the party," I murmured, becoming slightly more sober.

"Nah, it's ok," he said with a shrugged. "I mean, it's kinda my fault you're drunk."

"No, I should have listened to you about pacing myself." I leaned back and closed my eyes hoping the sickness in my stomach would pass. Maybe this was a punishment from God for giving in to temptation.

"So I just realized I know nothing about you other than your drinking habits. Bumlets? Is that your name?"

I groaned slightly. "Nickname. It's a long story."

There was a bit of silence. "I've got time."

Sighing, I opened my eyes and faced him. "It's not all that interesting. When I was little I would walk around the house saying 'bumlets.' Hell if I know what it meant. My mother thought it was the most adorable thing, so she began calling me her 'Little Bumlets.' She sent me something when I first moved in and in it she used that name. Jack thought it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard and now takes great pleasure in referring to me that way as much as possible."

There was another pause from him. "I think it's cute."

Having sobered up enough to fully comprehend what he had said, I felt my face flushing and my heart beating faster. "Thanks," I mumbled.

He smiled. "No problem." He glanced over at the party and grinned wider. "Hey, it's almost midnight!"

I squinted at my watch. 11:59. Sure enough, the party goers began the countdown. "10!...9!...8!...7!...6!...5!...4!...3!...2!...1!" Choruses of "Happy New Year!" rang through the apartment and a group of people began singing (or shouting rather) "Auld Lang Syne." Dutchy just smiled at them before turning back to me.

It may have been the alcohol. I hear many people say it makes you do crazy things. Maybe I just want to blame it on the alcohol. Whatever the case, something suddenly gave me the courage to lean forward at that very moment and press my lips softly against his.

I think as wonderful as my first taste of alcohol had been, this was much better. His lips were tender. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I still heard all the fireworks and felt all the butterflies you hear about in those awfully written love songs. My left hand slowly worked its way up into his hair, grasping softly. My right hand ran over his bare chest, memorizing every curve of every muscle. My eyes were tightly shut, images of his face and body flashing through the darkness.

When at last I felt the need to breathe again, I pulled away slowly, allowing myself to savor every moment. Opening my eyes, my brain finally realized what I had done. I began stuttering. "I-I'm...I don't know...That was just...I mean the alcohol..." Still startled by my brash actions I sprung up and made my way quickly through the crowd.

"Hey, Bumlets! Wait!"

I didn't wait even a moment. I clamored out the door, down the steps, and back to the dorm building.

The next morning I was up early at the computer, my head pounding. By the by, whoever said coffee helps with a hangover was lying.

"Morning," Jack trudged into the room.

"Were you out all night?"

Jack nodded as he yawned. "I met some girl at the party. I think her name was...something...with an 'L' maybe?" He grinned sadistically. "Have fun at the party? I think AlcoAnon has a new member."

"Oh, fuck off already..."

"I do declare, the boy can swear!" He went about the room picking up a bit. "So I saw you and Dutchy making nice."

I groaned. "I just hope I never have to see him again."

There was a bout of silence behind me. Then a bout of laughter. I turned around slowly to face Jack. He put a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter. "Uh..." he began between laughs, "I gave him your screenname."

Before I had the chance to respond, a ding came from behind me signaling a new IM. I turned around expecting the worst. What I saw made me grin.

**Dutchman: You/me get together sometime ::hopeful:: Had a blast talking with you at the party! Maybe we can finish up where we left off...?**


	2. ObLaDi, ObLaDa

This was written for Hotshot during the 2006 Summer Secret Slash exchange.

* * *

"How are you guy doing this 4th of July evening?"

The crowd assembled by the stage cheered enthusiastically. Sure said crowd only consisted of about twenty or so people, but for Navy Pier, or at least for the Dock Street Singers, that was an impressive size. Our stage was located across from a hot dog stand in the middle of the boardwalk, and the majority of our audience were people who were on their way to one of the popular exhibits and had simply stopped to check out our fifteen minute show, performed every half hour.

"We are the Navy Pier Dock Street Singers and we're glad to have you guys join us for the show. But first, let me introduce you to the rest of my posse. "

I smiled. The "leader" of our little a capella group was lead baritone Ian Haswell, nicknamed Dutchy. He was very lively, very animated, and very attractive. Did I also mention that he's my boyfriend?

"Right here, our tenor," he said, placing an arm around my shoulders, "is my man Jeremy Asher, but we all call him 'Specs'." He let his arm linger around my shoulders just a bit longer before going on to Chloe, our understudy mezzo.

I'm actually the understudy tenor. This means I only perform when the lead tenor, Blink, isn't going to be there. This sucks because I only get paid when I go on and getting another job is difficult because I need to be on call every Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday , Saturday, and Sunday just in case something happens.

I wasn't too surprised when Blink told me he was going to a party on July 4th and I would have to fill in for him. I also wasn't upset as he seemed to think I would be, seeing as he kept apologizing profusely. I guess he was under the impression that, like him, I had hoped to spend my 4th of July getting plastered. Not that I don't like a party now and then, mind you. But really, I'd rather spend my time making some money so I can actually pay my rent. Not to mention, if Dutchy had to perform that night anyway I really wouldn't have wanted to go out and do anything without him. Besides, Navy Pier itself s a party even on a normal day. On the 4th of July it's even more insane, topping off the night with a spectacular show of fireworks. Luckily for us, the stage where we perform gives us a great view of Lake Michigan, over which the fireworks display would be taking place.

"Thank you guys for seeing our little show," Dutchy said to the applauding audience after Danielle, our soprano, had finished "Big Yellow Taxi." "Our fifteen minutes are almost over, so we're going to finish up with a little Beatles song. I hope you guys enjoy!"He blew into his pitch pipe, giving everyone the first note. Then he stepped forward and began singing, "Desmond has a barrow in the market place. Molly is the singer in a band."

As I stood behind him, harmonizing with the others on the "underscoring," I couldn't help but look at him standing there in the tacky Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants (which made up our costumes). He made even those look good. As he and Danielle went into the chorus, I could feel my stomach flipping.

See, he and I have only been dating for four months and it's gotten to that point. You know, the point where the 'L' word starts popping into your head. Yep: Love.

You know, they say that falling in love is wonderful. Well, it's not. Don't misunderstand! Dutchy means everything to me...but I've never been in love before. Ever. It's so confusing and kind of scary. I want to tell him, but I don't know how. Every time I think I'm going to tell him, all of these thoughts start popping into my head: What if he doesn't feel the same? What if he thinks I'm moving too fast? How do I even know if it love anyway?

In short, my time spent with Dutchy has become both glorious and torturous.

I stepped forward and joined in with him on the last verse. "Happy ever after in the market place, Molly lets the children lend a hand." Dutchy wrapped his arm around my shoulders and my stomach flipped again. "Desmond stays at home and does his pretty face, and in the evening she's a singer in a band."

The entire group behind us walked forward and joined us in singing the chorus. "Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on bra! La-la how the life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on bra! La-la how the life goes on."

Dutchy's arm moved down to around my waist as we finished. "And if you want to have some fun, take ob-la-di ob-la-da!" The audience applauded as we took our bows, Dutchy's hand still resting on my hip. My breathing got short as he pulled my body into his, our thighs pressing together.

A couple of seconds later, a boom resonated around the pier and a split second later the sky lit up, hues of blue, red, pink, and green glittering in the sky. A high school band Navy Pier had recruited for the occasion began playing "The Star-Spangled Banner" at full volume and everyone on the pier, patrons and workers alike, began shrieking with delight at the display.

Between all of this I heard Dutchy softly say something to me.

"What?" I shouted over the noise.

"I said..." He stopped and looked at the people around, all with their backs to us as they watched the fireworks explode over the lake. He then opted to lean in to me, his lips right next to my ear. I almost stopped breathing for a moment as I felt his warm breath against my skin, and I did stop breathing moment when he started to speak.

"I said 'I love you.'"


	3. Cold Hands

This was written for DeeSarrachi during the 2007 Christmas Secret Slash exchange.

* * *

Specs shook his right hand vigorously, holding his papers for that morning in his left hand. When he could feel circulation returning to his right hand he switched the papers into that hand and began shaking the left hand. The harsh December winds felt like pins against the bare skin of his hands and before he had even finished warming up the left hand he could feel his right hand freezing up again.

That morning when he and the other newsboys had woken up he had shoved his hand in the pocket of his coat where he usually kept his mittens only to find that they were empty. Surprised, he had checked around his bed to see if he had accidentally left them on his bed the night before. He searched under his blanket and pillow but found nothing.

"Don't you have a hole in that coat pocket?" Race asked when Specs told him about his missing mittens. "Wouldn't be surprised if you stuck them in there and they fell out."

Racetrack was right about there being a hole in the pocket, but Specs knew the hole wasn't large enough for the mittens to fall out of. Obviously someone had stolen them.

If I catch that bum who took them, he thought, I'm gonna hit him so hard he can't see straight! Sure the mittens were a couple of year old. Sure the seams had begun to come apart, giving way to small holes here and there. But they were still his mittens.

Feeling his left hand thawing out he glanced down at his worn coat, eyeing the pockets in particular. He knew that if he put his hands in the pockets they would provide at least some warmth. But how could he conceivably put both of his hands in his pockets while still holding on to his stack of papers?

Grumbling, he shifted the papers from his right hand to under his right arm. While squeezing his right arm against his side, he carefully placed his hands in the pockets of the coat. When none of the paper fell he breathed a small sigh of relief. At least one thing was going well for him that day.

Not sure of where he wanted to sell that day, he opted instead to walk around rather than staying in one spot. Maybe the walking would help keep his hands warmer. He had only been walking for five minutes or so when he felt the papers under his arms begin to slip. Instinctively he jammed his arm harshly against his side, but to no avail. He stomach sank as he watched his papers fall from his into the half melted snow.

For a second he stood there just looking at the pile of ruined papers, glaring at the print, smudged from the snow. He fell to his knees, hesitantly pulling his hands from his pockets, and slowly collected the papers, deciding which ones were still sellable and which ones were lost causes.

"Hey, Specs!" Dutchy was approaching him. His cheeks along with the tip of his nose were a bright red and he was shivering as he stood there, but he was smiling. "Having a little trouble?"

Specs glowered at him. How could he be so happy when he was obviously freezing? Then Specs spotted Dutchy's hands. Dutchy's gloved hands. A small part of him felt contempt for his friend for having those gloves. "Yes!" he snapped. "This entire day so far has been one little trouble after another." He grabbed at the last paper in the snow. His hand stung as the snow brushed against it and he inhaled sharply, dropping the papers in his hands and fighting back the four letter word he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs.

Dutchy noticed his bare hands. "What happened to your mittens?"

"Somebody stole them."

"Stole? You're sure you didn't just lose them?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Specs all but snarled. He really didn't mean to, but his hands were still stinging from the cold and he was almost positive they were turning a little blue.

Dutchy knelt down in front of Specs and took Specs hands into his own. Specs didn't protest because Dutchy's hands felt so warm. "Christ, Specs, your hands are gonna be frozen solid!" Dutchy began rubbing Specs hands. Like Specs' missing mittens, Dutchy's gloves were beginning to tear in certain places and Specs noticed every now and then he would feel a brush of Dutchy's skin.

"Your hands are blue!" Dutchy exclaimed. Lifting Specs hands to his face, Dutchy began to blow warm breaths on them. Specs had stopped even noticing his hands. Now he noticed how nice the breaths against his skin. His fingers began to relax and soften. His heart, on the other hand, sped up with every burst of warm breath he felt against his hands

"There," Dutchy said letting go of Specs hands, "doesn't that feel better?"

All thoughts of missing mittens and ruined papers were gone. "Yeah," Specs replied softly, "it does. Uh, thanks."

The two stood up. "Let's go back to the Lodging House," Dutchy suggested. "I think Kloppman may have some coffee and you can warm up a bit better." He slipped off his own gloves and offered them to Specs.

"No, I couldn't take them," he said.

"It's just for the walk back. I'll be fine."

"Dutchy, I can't take your gloves. My hands are fine; I'll just stick them in my pocket."

Dutchy shoved the gloves into Specs hands. "You're wearing them."

Specs looked down longingly at the gloves. They did seem inviting. Then he had an idea. "How about I wear one and you wear one?"

Dutchy folded his arms, considering the suggestion. "What about your other hand?"

Specs put one of the gloves on his left hand and then handed the other one to Dutchy. "Put that one on your right hand," he instructed. When Dutchy had put the glove on, Specs wrapped his bare right hands around Dutchy's bare left hand. "See? Now both of our hands will be warm."

Dutchy grinned slightly, but then his face grew a bit more serious. "Specs, I think I know who may have taken your mittens," he admitted. "I saw Tumbler wearing a pair that looked a lot like yours."

Specs wanted to be angry, but instead he felt guilty. Tumbler was just a kid. Specs knew Tumbler probably needed the mittens a lot more than he did. "That's okay," Specs said. "He can keep them. Consider it a Christmas gift."

"Hey, speaking of which, what do you want for Christmas Specs?" Dutchy glanced down at their hands. "I guess mittens could be on the list."

Specs leaned over and softly kissed Dutchy's nose. "Nah, I think I've got a perfect gift right here."


	4. Autumn Leaves

Written for studentnumber24601 for The Refuge's Back to School Secret Slash ('08)

* * *

"Hey, Blink?"

"Yeah, Mush?"

"What makes the leaves change colors?"

The two newsboys were lying in a secluded area of Central Park with the tops of their heads pressed together. All they could see above was a mass of leaves in hues of red, orange, yellow, gold, and brown. They formed a beautiful and autumnal mosaic, the kind that could only be appreciated by certain types of people. It was early September and the weather had been fair and cool all week. Between that and the recent string of robberies that dominated the headlines the newsboys were in high spirits.

Blink tilted his head to the side as he considered the question. "I don't know, Mush. Maybe it's got something to do with the weather?" he guessed.

"Oh," his friend said disappointedly. "Do you think Davy'd know?"

Blink's expression soured, a slight twinge of jealousy flickering inside. "Maybe, but he'll be in school until this afternoon." He reached down into his pocket and plucked out a cigarette. "What's with you and him anyway? He your new best friend?" He grabbed a match and struck it against the sole of his boot.

"Nah, it ain't like that." Mush told him. "It's just nice to have someone who's smart and who don't look down on you as a friend. You know he's teaching me arithmetic."

"Yeah, so you told me," Blink muttered as he lit his cigarette. "And what do you mean by 'someone who's smart'? Are you saying the rest of us are dumb?"

Mush twisted his head to look back at him. "No, Blink, I didn't mean it like that!" he insisted, his eyes wide with regret. 'I wasn't trying to insult you or nothing. I just meant that Davy's _book_ smart. The rest of us – you, me, and the other guys – we're street smart. Well, _you_ guys are, I guess. I don't think I'm very smart one way or another," he joked half-heartedly. When Blink didn't look at him or reply, Mush became distinctly nervous. "Blink?" he asked softly. "You ain't mad at me, are you?"

Blink exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Nah, Mush, I ain't mad. I guess I just was feeling a bit jealous. With the way you talk about David…I just feel like I'm being replaced is all."

Mush could feel himself blushing. "Blink, you don't have to worry 'bout me and Davy…I mean, I don't think he's even…well…like that." He rolled on to his stomach so that he was facing Blink. Well, he was facing the top of his head at least. Mush smiled, admiring the head of blonde, wispy hair. He lowered his chin, resting it atop his hands, his nose only inches away from Blink's hair. "Even if he was, I could never see myself feeling 'bout him the way I do about _you_."

Blink smiled smugly, a smile that was practically a smirk. He reached his free hand up above his head to where Mush was, grabbing the other boy's hand and softly stroking the thumb. His grin grew wider as he felt warm breath brush against his skin and tender lips press against his fingers.

Mush pressed Blink's hand against his cheek. "I really love being here with you, Blink. I mean, I love being _anywhere_ with you, but I really love just you and me sharing this together. I think it may be favorite time of year."

"Why?"

Mush shrugged. "I dunno. It's not so hot like summer, but it's not freezing like winter neither. There's a good smell in the air and just a good feeling everywhere. And, of course, I love the leaves and the way they change colors."

"And then they fall off and get stepped on," Blink cut in. "And then they wither and die. Sometimes I feel like a damn leaf," Blink said as he put out his cigarette on a nearby tree root and flicked it away. "It's like we come out all hopeful in this world only to wither away and be stepped on like we were nothing. The only difference is no one takes the time admire us the way they do the leaves."

"You ain't nothing, Blink," Mush insisted, rubbing the boy's hand against his cheek. "And I spend most of my time admiring you," he added shyly.

Blink tilted his head back, catching Mush's eyes above him. They looked at each other for a moment before Mush tilted his head down, brushing his lips against Blink's in a strange, though satisfying, upside down kiss. Blink opened his mouth slightly, allowing Mush's bottom lip to fall in. He gently nipped at the lip and Mush emitted a soft squeal in response before slowly pulling away.

There was a small, yet sweet, bout of silence, as both boys continued to look at each other. "I guess the leaves can be pretty at times," Blink conceded, trying in vain to hide the blush that was creeping into his cheeks. And with that he sat up, running his hand through his hair, to remove any bits of grass or leaves that may have gotten stuck in there.

Behind him Mush was following suit. "I guess we should get some lunch before the afternoon edition comes out."

Blink glanced at Mush, smiling in bemusement as he spotted a single, yellow leaf sticking to boy's curls. He gently plucked it out and dropped it to the ground as the two walked off together.

"Hey, Blink?"

"Yeah, Mush?"

"…I think you're the smartest guy I know."


	5. The Christmas Cookie Catastrophe

He ran his finger along the top layer of white frosting and stuck the frosted finger into his mouth, almost moaning as the sweet confection melted on his tongue. He pulled his finger out slowly, not wanting the explosion of sweetness to come to an end. He was pulled from his moment of savoring by a gasp from behind him.

"Blink! I told you not to touch the frosting!" Mush admonished his boyfriend. He slapped Blink's hand away and grabbed the bowl of frosting. "You can lick the bowl when we're done."

Blink rolled his eyes and slid his arms around Mush's waist. "Come on!" he begged. "What's one little lick of frosting going to hurt?"

"These cookies are for the little kids at the church. I warned you that I was going to be busy doing this today, but you said you wanted to help. If you're going to help, then help!" Mush thrust an apron into Blink's arms before busying himself with the various ingredients.

Blink frowned, but he obligingly slipped the apron around his neck and tied the strings behind him. "Are you always this testy at Christmas?" Blink wasn't used to his boyfriend being so "no-nonsense." Mush was usually a very care-free, happy-go-lucky guy. "Or is it just because of me?"

Mush's stern pout softened and he sighed. "I just take my cookie making seriously, Blink." He knew how ridiculous that sounded, but it was the truth. "Every year my church has Christmas Eve with Santa for the needy children of the community. It was my favorite day of every year, so when I grew up and was too old for it I decided to still be a part of it. Now," he said with a proud grin, "my cookies are the favorite of every year."

"Sorry," Blink told him as he filched a chocolate morsel from the bag. "I wasn't trying to trivialize your baking." Blink knew that Mush's childhood hadn't been the best. As a boy, Mush had found solace with a local church, spending time there to get away from his drug-addicted parents. He'd confided to Blink that, had it not been for that church, he too would have probably ended up like his parents. "I just wanted to spend the day with you. I mean, isn't this the time of year you spend with people you love?"

"It is," Mush agreed. He grabbed the bag of chocolate chips from Blink's hand, though he had a playful grin on his face. "So you help me now and I'll give you an extra Christmas gift afterwards."

"Do I get to eat any of the cookies?"

Mush gave his boyfriend a peck on the lips. "I think I can give you something better than cookies."

"I don't know," Blink said dubiously. "What's better than your cookies? You said yourself they're the favorite every year."

A playful glint shone in Mush's eyes as he leaned in and whispered something to Blink. The blonde boy's smile grew and his eyes practically glazed over as his boyfriend told him in great detail just how he would be rewarded for his help.

* * *

"So we're done, right?" Blink asked hopefully. His face was currently nestled in Mush's neck. Around them was an array of bowls, filled with left over cookie dough, different colored frostings, and homemade chocolate syrup. The radio that Mush had lugged out from his bedroom was set to the local holiday music station and "Jingle Bell Rock" played softly behind them. The sweet scent of baking cookies filled the air. The aroma only seemed to fuel Blink's carnal desire.

"Well, we have to wait for them to bake and then we have to decorate them…" Mush trailed off as he felt Blink's lips brushing against his skin. "…But they're going to be baking a while," he said.

"So we have time to, uh, exchange some presents, right?"

"I thought you wanted to lick the bowl," Mush teased. He grabbed the bowl that had been holding the cookie dough and offered it to Blink. When the boy didn't show any interest, Mush scooped up some of the dough on his index and middle fingers and offered it to him. Blink, though, ignored the dough, choosing instead to go right in for the lips.

"You taste like cookies," Blink commented between kisses. "Have you been sneaking cookie dough from the bowl?"

"Maybe just a little," he admitted as he ran his fingers through Blink's hair. "You taste like chocolate. Were you grabbing more chocolate chips when I went to the bathroom?"

Blink didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed Mush's hands with his own, his thumbs gently stroking his boyfriend's knuckles. "Come on," he urged, "we've got some time before those things need to come out." He jerked his head toward the bedroom.

Whether it was the mixture of the sound of Christmas music and the scent of cookies or the fact that it was Christmas Eve or simply the feeling of Blink's hands on his and the lop-sided smile the blonde boy was giving him, Mush didn't know, but he made no protests when he was slowly pulled toward his bedroom.

* * *

Mush slowly opened his eyes. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The sweet aroma of cookies had been replaced with a thick smell of burning. His eyes widened in horror. "Blink! Oh, crap, the cookies!" Mush sprung from his place in Blink's arms and sprinted out to the kitchen. The clock on the stove showed that he and Blink had fallen asleep for two hours. No doubt the cookies had become burnt beyond recognition and completely inedible.

A groggy Blink trailed behind. His mouth was agape with a wide yawn and he was zipping up his jeans. "I guess we got a little carried away," he said sheepishly.

When he opened the door to the oven, Mush was met with a thick haze of smoke. He fanned it away and peered inside, disheartened at the sight that lay before him. Prior to placing them inside the oven, each of the three cookie sheets had been filled with twenty globs of cookie dough. Now they each held twenty black crisps that even a dog would turn its nose up at.

"They're ruined!" Mush grabbed the pot holders and pulled out the cookie sheets. "They're all ruined!"

"Mush, it's okay!" Blink insisted. He placed a supportive hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, but it was immediately shrugged off.

"I'm due at the church in two hours, Blink! I'm out of cookie dough and I don't have enough ingredients to make any more." Mush threw the last cookie sheet into the sink, not even bothering to scrape off the charred cookie remains. For all he cared, the cookie sheets could just stay that way, covered with hard, disgusting burnt cookies. "I should have stayed out here and watched them."

"I'm sorry. Honestly, I am, Mush. I never thought we'd fall asleep. But I can make this right for you."

Mush looked at him skeptically. "I can't bring them store bought cookies, Blink. They'll know the difference and they'll start asking me if I'm okay and why I bought cookies this year instead of making them. Then I'll be forced to tell them, 'Well, my boyfriend decided we should dirty my sheets while the cookies baked and, as a result of that, the cookies were burnt to a crisp.' Then that damned Mrs. Mulch, who hates me for no reason other than the fact that the kids like me more than they like her witchy old self, will click her tongue and start going on about how this is further proof that God is punishing me for being gay and then…" Mush was cut off my Blink's hand on his mouth.

"Baby, you're going to talk yourself into a conniption fit. Now breathe." Blink removed his hand and lead Mush to one of the chairs. "Sit back, relax, and let me handle this." Blink pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket and flipped it open. There was a short silence as Blink listened to the ring tone and Mush tried not to hyperventilate. Finally, Blink's eyes lit up and he shot Mush a bright smile. "Hi, Maw Maw. It's Brent. I know you always have a lot of those great homemade gingerbread people left over…yes, I know I'm too skinny, that's why I was wondering if I could have all of your leftover gingerbread people tonight…"

* * *

"Ha! And you doubted me," Blink whispered into Mush's ear. The two were tucked away in a corner of the church's small banquet hall where rows of table had been set up for the children who were attending. At the front of the hall was fully decorated tree with presents packed beneath it, and a special throne-like seat that was reserved for the arrival of Santa Claus. The children were busy at the tables, decorating their gingerbread men and women with frosting, sprinkles, gum drops, candy canes, and whatever other kinds of candy Mush and Blink had managed to find during their scramble through the grocery store.

"I have to admit, this turned out really well," Mush conceded. He leaned back, revealing in the feel of Blink's arms wrapping around his waist. "In fact…this may have been the best it's ever been." Out of the corner of his eye, Mush saw a group of parishioners approaching him.

"Michael!" one woman proclaimed. "Your 'Decorate Your Own Gingerbread Person' idea is fantastic! The children love it so much."

"It really makes them feel as though they're contributing to this," another woman added.

"Mm..it's quite…quaint," another one of the women – the one Mush had pointed out as being the witchy Mrs. Mulch – said coolly. Her arms were folded and her mouth tightly pouted as she looked Mush and Blink up and down.

"It was actually Blink's idea," Mush explained. "Uh, this is my boyfriend, Blink…well, his name is Brent, but we all call him Blink."

"So you're the young man who has stolen Michael's heart," one of the women said with a wink. "He's such a sweet young man."

"Yes, well we really should be getting things ready for Santa, shouldn't we girls?" Mulch said dryly. The group of tittering women left the pair alone with the promise that they would talk to them later.

"Alone," Blink sighed, once again circling his arms around Mush's body. He rested his cheek against the boy's shoulder and pressed his lips against the skin of his neck. "Too bad there's no mistletoe in sight."

Mush turned in Blink's arms so that he was facing the blonde boy. His arms wrapped around Blink's neck and he looked at him, a small smile playing on his lips. "You don't need mistletoe to kiss me, Blink," he told his boyfriend before pressing his lips against Blink's. He pulled away after a moment and looked at Blink suspiciously. "Have you been eating gingerbread?"

* * *

**The End!**


	6. Summer Nights

If you didn't mind the rancid smells, the hard cement beneath you, the often excruciating heat, and the possibility of rats and other vermin running rampant across your body, sleeping outside really wasn't all that bad. Sure, you didn't have a comfy pillow and mattress or a fan slowly whirring above you (when it actually worked), but there was a certain charm about sleeping outside for the night. It was even better when you had a certain curly-haired, well-toned, beautiful youth curled up against your body.

To the average person passing by, the two boys looked as though they were huddled together for comfort and—this being something of a seedy area—perhaps for their own personal safety; for the boys, the cuddling was so much more. They would have cuddled regardless of where they had slept that night, just for its own sake, its own pleasures.

Blink looked up at the stars which sparkled in the night. He had little use for astronomy ; he couldn't even begin to name the constellations he often heard others talk about, but he couldn't deny how beautiful the sky looked at night. It was a black abyss filled with scattered beams of light. When he stared up into the mass of stars, it was like looking into eternity. The wonder of the situation was made even more breathtaking by the gorgeous young boy he who lay beside him. He wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.

"Ya think it'll maybe cool down tonight, Blink?"

The blonde boy hadn't a clue what kind of temperature the night held for them. He probably should have given the weather report a glance that morning as he was selling his stack of papers; of course, how was he to know they wouldn't be able to pay for lodging that night? "I hope so," he muttered as twin trickles of sweat ran down either side of his face. He felt Mush's hand wipe one of them away. The other boy's hand was rough and dirty; it left a trail of ink down his companion's face as it caressed him. But Blink didn't care. He'd gladly lean into Mush's touch any day.

"We coulda stayed in there, ya know" Mush whispered. And it was true. Despite the ominous warnings Kloppman regularly gave out to the newsboys, they all knew the man was a softie at heart and would usually let a boy slide a night or two without paying.

"I don't need charity from no one," Blink said bluntly. "And Kloppman don't need us taking beds from paying boys." He readjusted his body and tightened his grip on Mush. "I'm fine out here. We got a great view of the sky, we don't have to listen to Skitt's awful snoring, and we got each other, right?"

Mush smiled; his smile almost seemed to brighten up the darkness. "Right," he said.

"Course, if you wanted to go and sleep inside, I'd understand," Blink told him. It was obvious by his tone that he wasn't really thrilled by the idea of Mush forsaking him for a warm and charitable bed, but he didn't want Mush to suffer discomfort because of his stubbornness.

The curly-haired boy didn't budge from his spot. "If this is good enough for you, it's good enough for me." He gently situated his head in the crook of Blink's neck, his soft lips brushing up against the paler boy's skin. "'Sides, I like being able to hold you like this. Couldn't do that up there," he said, jerking his head toward the lodging house which sat across the street. "Too many roaming eyes.'

Blink's hand found its way to Mush's curls. They were knotted and dirty, but that didn't deter Blink from playing with them, wrapping the tendrils round his finger. "I dunno," he commented in a teasing tone. "Maybe I won't be able to sleep if you're here. I mean, it ain't fair that I'm expected to sleep when I got a guy like you lying on top of me. It's too much for a guy's heart to handle."

Despite Mush's dark complexion, Blink made out the slightest blush on the boy's cheeks. He could also feel Mush's skin heat up. It made the thought of sleeping even more difficult to comprehend, for in that moment he wanted nothing more than to bring his chapped lips to Mush's, holding the other boy gently as they kissed. Thoughts of carnal pleasures ran through Blink's mind, increasing his heart rate even further.

Despite this rush of adrenaline, a few minutes later Blink's eye fell shut, his breathing became slow and steady, and the only sounds emanating from him were soft snores and even softer exhales.

Mush was still awake, though. He was looking at Blink's slumbering form, admiring the boy's beauty. His blonde hair. His smooth, pale skin. His body which, while not nearly as firm and muscular as Mush's, brought such comfort when he lay against it.

The boy gently rolled himself over so that he was lying directly atop Blink and gave the sleeping boy a quick peck on the cheek. As he adjusted his body, the telltale jingle of change sounded from his pocket. He placed a hand over it to silence it, though he doubted Blink, deep in sleep, could have possibly heard it. He didn't want Blink to know that he had actually made enough money that day to pay his way into the Lodging House. In fact, he'd made enough that he could have paid both of their ways and still had enough leftover for a substantial dinner. He knew, though, that Blink would have refused the money. He didn't accept charity from anyone, not even from Mush, something that, while it sometimes annoyed him, Mush understood. Blink had his pride, a pride that dictated he earn his own money. Mush would never infringe upon that. So when he'd found out that Blink would spend the night beneath the stars, Mush decided he would as well, despite how much money he had jingling in his pocket. It really wasn't so bad, even with the sweltering summer heat.

As Blink had said, they had a wonderful view of the star-filled sky and, most importantly, each other.


End file.
